Visitor
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Apollo doesn't have any time to spare for Phoenix, not when Klavier is grinning down at him from the other side of the entry." Klavier comes to visit Apollo and Apollo loses his cool.


The doorbell rings so late at night that for a moment all three of them - Apollo, Athena, and Phoenix - stop in shock, look up towards the front door like they don't understand the sound. Trucy stirs on the couch, mumbles in her sleep and rolls over; she's snoring faintly again before even Phoenix has collected himself enough to stumble to his feet.

"I'll get it." He sounds exhausted, worn out and sleepy and confused, but there's something else under his tone, a weird thread of intensity that makes the bracelet wrapped around Apollo's wrist tighten for a moment. Athena looks back at what she's doing immediately, her focus better than Apollo's in the moment, but Apollo watches Phoenix's shoulders, looking for...he doesn't know, exactly. Something, a rise of nerves or a cessation of, and he hasn't decided which when the door opens and the panicked anticipation droops into resignation.

Phoenix says something too softly for Apollo to catch, but the responding voice catches his attention just as he's looking back at the papers spread in front of him, pushes him to his feet before he's set them down. They fall in a sweep, interrupting Athena's focus and earning him a hiss of deserved irritation, but he's moving towards the door too fast to care so he's at Phoenix's elbow before the older man has even finished turning.

"I'll see if he -" Phoenix is saying, but he cuts off at the abrupt appearance of Apollo at his elbow. "Ah. It would seem he _is_ free."

Apollo doesn't look at Phoenix. He doesn't have any time to spare for the other lawyer, not when Klavier is grinning down at him from the other side of the entry.

"What are you _doing_ here?" He's trying to muffle his voice but it still comes out loud enough that Phoenix hisses, glances over at where Trucy is asleep on the couch.

"Sorry," Apollo mumbles, contrite, but Klavier is talking and all his frustration is surging back up in him in spite of his attempts to quash it.

"I wanted to see you, Herr Forehead." He's smiling, looking at Apollo like he's the only thing in the world and leaning forward with that patronizing angle he sometimes adopts. Apollo hisses, wordless with the need to stay quiet and the seething burn of irritation, and then there's a hand on his shoulder.

"Say what you need to say and then come back in," Phoenix is saying, but the push is shoving Apollo forward so he stumbles and nearly falls into Klavier before he catches his balance. Phoenix is glaring at Apollo when the younger lawyer glances at him, but his gaze flicks to Klavier and something softens in his expression, just for a moment. Then the door shuts, and Apollo is left gaping at the darkened panel with Klavier beside him in the corridor.

"Wow." Apollo can _hear_ the smirk even before he turns to actually see the white flash of Klavier's teeth in the moonlight. "He keeps you on a short leash, doesn't he?"

"Phoenix is great," Apollo offers, sturdy defense of his mentor even though a moment ago he would have agreed with the blond.

"Jah, sure." Klavier takes a step in, and suddenly he's very close indeed, and Apollo can't remember how to move his feet. "I would give you much more slack, Herr Forehead." The half-insult is purring in his throat and there's a touch at Apollo's hair - is Klavier _stroking_ his head? "My leash wouldn't chafe at _all_."

It takes Apollo a moment to catch on. It usually does, with Klavier. When his understanding _does_ catch up he stumbles backwards, choking on too many protests to voice any one. "Woah, hey, _what?_" There, he's far enough now, there's a step or two between them, and now there's the wall at his back, safe and secure and he can lean his shoulders against it to support his trembling legs. "What do you _want_, Klavier?"

Klavier tips his head. "I thought that was obvious." The toss of his chin is expected, the flick of his hair combined with the snap of his fingers, but Apollo is so caught up in the expected movement that he doesn't realize Klavier is moving in closer. "I want what I _always_ want."

The distance that seemed so safe a moment ago is gone, now, evaporated like it never existed, and it's taken Apollo's breath with it. The darkness seems weighted with suggestion, now, Klavier's purple coat is shadowed into black in the evening, his hair looks almost white without the gold undertones it usually has. And Apollo can hear him breathing, he can feel the blond exhale against his hair even before those long fingers come down against his cheek again.

"Do you need me to tell you?"

Apollo can't think. Klavier's fingertips are callused from past-tense guitar strings, his voice is smoothed over into liquid warmth from his years of singing, and Apollo's supposed to be helping Athena prepare, she _needs_ his help, but it's been so long and he thought he was fighting his dreams down but they're surfacing now, rough-edged and desperate so when his hands come up they're grabbing instead of pushing.

"Yeah." It's supposed to be a shout. It doesn't come out that way, all the gravel that usually carries his voice to the audience just makes the words purr oddly in his throat, and Apollo can hear the way Klavier's breath catches even before his fingers find the edge of the other's jacket, the chain of his necklace, and curl into fists. "Tell me." He punctuates with a shake, not a push but just a jerk of his arms, and Klavier lets himself go passive into it, smiles so all Apollo can see for a moment is that moonlit-white of his teeth.

"I missed you." Klavier is leaning in, the distance between them is vanishing, and Apollo is going to push him away, he _is_, he's just waiting for the syllables of that damn nickname to fall. He's so busy bracing for the ironic title that he's not expecting Klavier's mouth to open, so certain the blond is going to grin at him that he doesn't identify the sound coming until "_Apollo_" has fully formed in Klavier's professionally-trained voice.

He doesn't have any defense for that. Klavier is leaning in, and in the moment of stunned shock hearing his name buys from Apollo the blond's mouth is against his, and then it's all over. Klavier's fingers are pushing into his hair, and his lips are warm and soft and _familiar_ from dreams and half-forgotten memories and too many fantasies to count. When Apollo twists the chain in his hand Klavier just sighs in satisfaction at the pull on his neck, and the wall at Apollo's shoulders is for the best because he couldn't keep his feet alone without the support behind him and the warm pressure of Klavier against his chest.

Apollo doesn't know how long they stand there. It's late, and there's no one to walk in on them, and Klavier's fingers are pulling at his tie and Klavier's tongue is pressing against his mouth, and when he parts his lips Klavier's sigh floods over his own tongue. His blood is singing and everything is _perfect_, everything is warmth and the hum of delighted laughter and the feel of Klavier's jacket under his fingers, Klavier's shoulders pressing against his.

He hears the door open before he identifies the sound. The creak hits his ears, and his head is still flustered with trying to recognize it because _that was important_ when there's a sharp inhale, and he _does_ recognize that, and suddenly he and Klavier are trying to pull away from each other retroactively quick. Athena's standing in the doorway, backlit by the desk lamp, and Apollo can't see her face at all, just the silhouette of her hair and jacket in the light.

"Phoenix…" She starts, chokes, speaks again. "Phoenix wants to know if you're coming back in." There's a twist in her voice, a tension that speaks to repressed laughter, and Apollo can feel himself flush from his loosened tie to his hairline even before Klavier laughs.

"Unfortunately yes," the blond answers on Apollo's behalf. When he moves he drags Apollo to his feet at the same time, tightens his tie and smoothes his hair too fast for the other to react before the action is done. Apollo's still trying to untangle his fingers from cloth and metal when Klavier leans in close, presses his mouth in against Apollo's ear, whispers "Tomorrow, Herr Forehead." There's the motion of lips, a kiss just against Apollo's ear, and then Klavier is slipping free, sweeping a bow to Athena and vanishing down the hallway.

Apollo stands staring after him, not sure if he's more flustered or irrritated, until Athena comes out of the doorway to grab at his wrist and tow him back bodily. Phoenix is grinning when he looks up upon their return, and Athena is coughing in a failed attempt to cover her laughter, but neither of them comments on Apollo's crimson cheeks or on his total inability to focus for the rest of the night.


End file.
